New Home
by zennie
Summary: Based on Season 4, not Season 5.
1. The Kitchen

New Home 

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Really. Especially not the premise lifted from the tv show.

Summary: A follow-up to to New Hobby – Part two of the three-part _New Life_ series. Starts immediately after _New Hobby_, but you don't have to read it to understand this one. Sara continues to move on with her life after the DUI. Based on Season 4, not Season 5. W/S, B/S friendships.

Ps. I've gone back to this story for **guess19**, who reviewed _New Hobby_ long after it was done to ask for more.

**xxx**

The Kitchen 

Sara and Warrick were the last to leave the diner that morning. The conversation had turned to boxing, a long detailed discussion of techniques and strategy that quickly bored Catherine, who begged off after eating almost immediately to spend time with Lindsey. Grissom followed, although it seemed less the topic of conversation than the animated way Warrick and Sara chatted. Nick and Brass hung around the longest, on the periphery. Brass left them sitting there in the large corner booth after extracting a promise to see Sara the next day at the shooting range. At the door, he had paused, taking in the way Warrick was leaning close, his arm along the back of the booth behind her shoulders and Sara's huge grin, and then left with a secret smile.

A sudden, huge yawn cut off her words, and Sara looked at Warrick, embarrassed. "Sorry. It's not you." He glanced at his watch, amazed at the time. "Wow, we've been here for hours." He chuckled. "No wonder the waitress has been glaring at us the last couple of refills."

Sara's knees buckled as she tried to stand, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over her. "Damn,' she said as she staggered back, her hand grabbing at the table behind her. Warrick's hands were already there, one catching her elbow and the other sliding around her waist to steady her. "You ok?" His eyebrows were drawn together with concern as he supported her weight.

"Yeah." Sara shook her head in embarrassment. "I'm wiped out," she told him as she sagged a little in his grasp. The warmth and solidity of his body was strangely reassuring, and she rested a minute against his muscular chest before leaving it reluctantly, moving away from him and making her way to the exit.

Warrick hurried out the door after Sara, who was already halfway to her car. "No way," he said, catching up with her and pulling her toward his SUV. "I'm driving you home." She opened her mouth to protest, an automatic reaction to any offer of help, but the frosty look in his green eyes stopped her. "I'm not going to have you fall asleep at the wheel," he stated, a stubborn, yet concerned, look on his face. The flinty green of his eyes warmed as Sara relented, giving him a small smile and letting him lead her to his car, his arm still around her waist.

Her eyes fluttered closed as soon as her head hit the headrest, and Warrick found himself taking advantage of the opportunity to glance at her slumbering figure regularly, marveling in the changes that had taken place in the last months. It wasn't just the physical changes in her body from her new exercise regime, or the tan that indicated she spent a lot more time outside than before, but also her ability to loosen up and have fun. She had smiled and laughed more over breakfast than he ever seen before. And all the time he, Nick, and Catherine had been watching her for signs of weakness or a recurrence of the drinking, she had been becoming stronger than they ever anticipated. He also reveled in the chance to see her face soothed in sleep, the hard lines relaxed and warmed by the sun coming through the dusty windshield. Even though her mouth had fallen open and a quiet snore rumbled through the quiet cab at regular intervals.

When he pulled up to her apartment building, he realized his dilemma; as hard as he tried, Warrick couldn't wake her. He had seen this a few times at work when she had crashed in the break room; after pushing herself past a certain limit, her body would collapse and put her under for a couple of hours. The first time they couldn't wake her up from a nap, she had scared Catherine near to death, but since then it had become almost commonplace and everyone knew you couldn't wake Sidle from one of her comas. Warrick measured the stairs with his eyes and figured he could make it up them carrying her, but he didn't know how that would look to her neighbors, or how he would get the door open_. Girl can't carry a purse like every other female on the planet,_ he thought ruefully as he eyed the tight jeans she had changed into after shift and the slight crease deep in the front pocked that was probably her keys. Making a quick decision, he started the car again and pulled out.

Much better he thought ten minutes later as he parked his SUV in his garage, picking Sara up and carrying her into his house away from prying eyes and three flights of stairs. He managed to get her up the single flight of stairs in his house and into his bedroom with some exertion; as a dead weight, she was heavier than her slight frame would lead him to expect. After slipping off her shoes, he paused, and then worked her jeans down over her hips in an effort to make her more comfortable. Covering her with the duvet, he surveyed his handiwork, and the peaceful expression on the sleeping brunette's face, before he slipped into the guest bedroom to get a few hours of sleep himself.

Sara stretched luxuriously on the bed, throwing her arms above her head and pointing her toes for a full-body stretch before opening her eyes to the late afternoon sun breaking through the shades, the yellow light bathing the room in gold. When the surroundings penetrated her sleep-drowsy mind, she shot straight up in the bed –not her bed –and stared at the alarm clock—not her clock—and tried not to panic as she drew a blank on where she was or how she got there. Taking stock of the room, she saw her gun and badge on the dresser, her jeans draped over a chair in the corner, and a picture of Warrick and an older woman on a mantel over a wood-burning fireplace. _Ok_, she thought as she got out of bed and slipped on her jeans_, I'm at Warrick's. One mystery solved. Still not sure how I got to Warrick's or how I ended up in his bed half-dressed, though_, she thought as her mind worked overtime to remember these details.

She made her way through the hallway, pausing at the door to another bedroom with the bed rumpled, before heading downstairs. The smell of coffee and the sound of Coltrane led her to a spacious kitchen at the back of the house where she found Warrick cooking what looked like pancakes. He was standing with his back to her as he worked, in a white tank and jeans, dipping his head in time to the snap-drum on the track. She folded her hands across her chest and watched as he handled the skillet as skillfully as he handled an electric saw, the muscles in his broad back working as he flipped the pancake.

"Enjoying the view?" His low voice rumbled over the music and Sara chuckled a little at being caught in her unabashed staring. "Umm, yeah," she replied, eliciting a chuckle in return, and she managed to meet his gaze when he turned only blushing a little bit. "Of course, I don't think I undressed you while you were sleeping this morning…" She shrugged a shoulder, the grin she was trying to repress slowly making its way across her face as Warrick looked increasingly embarrassed and uncomfortable. "So I guess we're even," she finished as Warrick caught her widening smile and laughed self-consciously.

"Hungry? I'm making pancakes." He turned back to his cooking and she leaned against the counter beside him, watching him pour batter into the pan. "Can I help?"

"Nope, this is the last one." He gestured toward the coffee maker. "Pour us each a cup, will ya?" Nodding, Sara slid behind him to get to the coffee pot, splaying her hands lightly on his back as she went by, finding the mugs on her second try. Warrick was already sitting at the table, beautifully made up with old china and a vase of flowers by the time she turned around.

"Wow," she said as she set their cups in the saucers already on the table. "You set a table like this every morning?"

Sliding two pancakes onto her plate, he shook his head in amusement as she checked out her surroundings with a criminalist's eye. "Grams always used her good china, for every meal. Nothing was allowed in her house that wasn't for everyday use, she used to say." His eyes glowed and his smile softened as he recalled some memory and he glanced over at Sara who was watching with interest. "I kept up the habit, I guess."

"This is her house?"

"Yeah. Where she raised me." He spooned some slices of banana onto her pancakes and poured both maple syrup and chocolate syrup on top before setting the plate in front of her. She eyed the combination skeptically. "It's Grams' favorite pancake topper," he said, indicating her plate. "Try it. You'll like it." She watched as he fixed his own pancakes the same way before trying a bite of her own. His questioning look was answered with a blinding smile that made the room seem a hundred shades brighter than it already was. As she dug into her pancakes with a hearty appetite, Warrick found himself committing that dazzling smile to memory.

"So, um, I don't want to seem ungrateful," she began as she stacked their dishes in the sink and brought the coffee pot over to refill their glasses, "but how exactly did I end up here anyway?" Warrick watched as she moved around the kitchen as if she had been there a hundred times before, falling easily into a rhythm that seemed like habit, and he found himself smiling broadly as her body moved almost subconsciously to the music. _A woman who likes jazz_.

"I'm Old Fashioned."

"Huh?"

"That's the song you are swaying to,' he explained, amusement coloring his voice as Sara looked off to the side, embarrassed.

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah," he replied, his eyes still on her slightly swaying form. "You fell asleep in the car and I couldn't wake you." Her embarrassed expression deepened, as did the blush on her cheeks. "And it was either I sling you over my shoulder and carry you through the hallways of your apartment complex, or I bring you here. I thought this was the best option."

Sara imagined the scene he had just painted, and laughed in agreement. "Yeah. Mrs. Paulie would have called the cops on you for sure, and explaining it Brass would have been no fun whatsoever." She finished her coffee and placed the cup in the sink, turning back to Warrick, "Thanks for, uh, taking care of me."

"Anytime."


	2. The Gym

AN: First try at creating some W/S tension. Let me know if you like it. 

**xxx**

**The Gym**

Sara paused, breathing heavily and looking down the hill she had just run up for the fifth time. She still had five more hill sprints to do before she was allowed to head back to the gym, but she had to admire the sunrise as it colored the mountains to the east in a warm, orange glow. Bent over, hands on her knees, she could feel the morning's chill rise and dissipate as the rays touched the ground. While hill sprints were always tough, this morning they seemed easy, and either she was getting better at running or the weightless and carefree feeling from breakfast the other morning, the lack of weight on her shoulders, lightened her body as well as her mind. She relived the moment in her head again, her toothy smile stretching as she recalled the feeling of setting aside the burden of her unrequited feelings for her supervisor and how in-control she had felt since.

She had met Brass the next day for their usual shooting date, and he had brought the .45 as he had promised. They had shared a fun afternoon of trying the heavier-caliber gun, and he had been pleased by his prediction of her arm strength being right. It was over dinner later that he had cornered her. "So, you and Warrick seemed… cozy at the diner yesterday." Her half-smirk had belied the 'whatever-are-you-alluding-to' expression in her eyes. "How long did the two of you stay?" he asked, a slight emphasis on two.

"Oh, maybe another hour, if that. I was pretty tired," she had replied blithely, knowing where he was going with his questions and trying to head him off.

"Anything I should know about?" The paternal tone in his voice had made her chuckle, and the shake of her head had told him he wasn't going to get anything on what she was thinking about her co-worker. What she did tell him was the details of her match in two weeks, and his promise to be there for moral support had elicited a beaming smile from her. Thinking of that conversation made Sara realize that she had been standing, watching the sun, for long enough for her breathing to slow and the sweat to cool on her body. _Five more_, she told herself as she jogged down the hill.

**xxx**

Warrick plopped the deli bag down in front of Sara as she sat in the conference room, going over her case file for the hundredth time, hoping that this time she would see something new that she had missed. Glancing up with a vexed expression at being interrupted, her narrowed eyes and slight pout taking in her co-worker, and then the bag on the table. "Can I help you, Warrick?"

He didn't try to hide the amusement on his face or in his voice as he took in her attempt to drive him off. "You missed lunch."

"I'll get something if I want it," she replied, her tone warning about invading her privacy.

"Are you saying you aren't hungry? I got your favorite, eggplant parmigian from the Italian deli." His tone was equal parts teasing and prodding, and when he saw her eyes glance over at the bag hungrily, he knew he had her. "Come on, Sara, you need to eat." He saw her about to object again, so he continued. "And you can talk to me about your case while we eat." She looked down at the bag again, smelling the delicious aroma coming from the bag, and mock-glared at him before breaking into an ironic half-smile and sliding the case file to the side and pulling the bag toward her. They talked about the case until Sara's eyes flew wide in excitement, and she jumped up from the table, mumbling a quick thanks as she gathered her file and hurried from the room, leaving half her sandwich uneaten.

Later, in the break room, unbeknownst to her, her wry smile as she read the note saying the rest of her lunch was in the fridge and she had better eat it matched the one on Warrick's face when she had rushed out of the conference room exactly.

**xxx**

"So you closed the case?" he asked from the door of the locker room, before snagging a seat on the bench beside her. She looked tired, but the strain on her face and the tension in her body was gone.

"Yeah, And thanks, um, for lunch and everything."

"I told you, anytime." She shot him a tired half smile, but the expression reached her eyes and warmed the espresso depths, transforming her entire face. Warrick had always thought Sara was pretty, but he found himself thinking how wonderful she looked with her eyes alight like that. "Are you heading home to get some sleep?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. I have to go to the gym for a couple of hours first."

"Why?" His question came out sharper than he expected, and he moderated his tone. "You're exhausted. You can skip a day at the gym, can't you?"

Sara caught her bottom lip between her teeth, looking at him thoughtfully. "Actually, I can't. I…" she glanced around the room to make sure no one could overhear. "I'm training for a match later this month. So I can't miss."

"Wow, really? Is this the reason you're taking the weekend off?" Greg had been making a big deal of her request, speculating for a week on what Sara would do on her weekend off, with every speculation getting more and more outrageous.

"Yeah," she admitted. "The match is Saturday night, and I thought I should have a night to rest before and the night after to recover. Don't, um, tell anyone, ok?" At his puzzled look, she explained, "I'm not comfortable yet sharing too much of my life outside of the lab with people." Her eyes shifted to the ground before she continued. "I still need privacy right now." He nodded in understanding as she shut her locker and left. He left a second later, to get a personal day request from Grissom.

**xxx**

Frowning as a knock on her door interrupted her packing her gym bag, Sara called an annoyed, "Just a minute" as she walked to the door, mentally reviewing her bag contents, sure she was forgetting something. "Warrick? What are you doing here?" Her mental inventory flew out of her head when he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, his green eyes echoing the grin on his face. He was wearing a pair of loose jeans and a button-down shirt that hugged every muscle and showed off a large swath of skin at his throat. Sara had a sudden vision of herself enveloped in those arms, crushed against that chest, and decided that the pre-match jitters were doing a number on her concentration.

"I'm your driver."

"I didn't ask…" she began, puzzled, wondering if he had misunderstood something she had said. They had discussed the upcoming fight a couple of times since the locker room, but she didn't recall any conversation about him going to the fight with her.

He shrugged. "I know. But I'm here anyway."

"But you have to work…"

"Nope. I got the night off." Her mouth fell open at that, and he took to the opportunity to step around her into her apartment. "So I guess you are stuck with me." He noted her half-packed bag and started in on the questions. "Do you have your water bottle? Tape? Wraps? Shorts? Protective gear? Warm-up jacket?"

"Um, yeah, yeah, I think I got everything." Mentally, Sara was trying to catch up as her brain seemed stuck on the fact that Warrick was there.

"Towels?"

"I was just going to get a few extra," she replied, heading to the back of the apartment, to where Warrick assumed her bath and bedroom were. It was then that he noticed the tight lycra shorts and sports bra she was wearing, showing off an amazing stretch of leg and midriff and outlining the few parts concealed in stark detail. Sara reached the exact same conclusion as soon as she saw the sweat suit laid out on her bed, waiting for her to put it on, and she was glad the door hid her embarrassment as she hurriedly put it on, zipping the jacket all the way up to her neck. Stepping back out with a load of towels in her arms, Sara thought she saw a flash of disappointment in Warrick's emerald eyes.

**xxx**

It was only a three-round match, over in less than fifteen minutes, and Sara once again felt the two halves, mind and body, come together in perfect symmetry as she moved around the ring, watching her opponent's core as they circled. A jab and then right came at her, and she blocked, then ducked, answering with a straight right of her own, catching the shorter woman in the padded headgear right over her jaw. The woman stepped back, surprised, and got her guard up quickly, but the punch had connected. Sara closed the distance, forcing her to back up, snapping a couple more jabs at her head to distract her before connecting with a right cross. Her opponent retreated again, in what was to be typical of the action of the match.

Sitting next to Warrick, Brass watched Sara stalk the blonde woman around the ring relentlessly and ruthlessly, with the same kind of intensity she used to track down elusive clues, and he again marveled at her strength and determination. During the intermission between the second and third round, he cast a glance at the young man sitting beside him, watching the brunette in the ring with the same kind of intensity. Gil might not have realized what Sara offered him, but something in Warrick's eyes told him that Gil was the only one who was going to make that mistake. For his own part, Warrick watched every punch that the woman managed to land on Sara with trepidation, only breathing easy when the bell rang, signaling the end of the match.

**xxx**

"Impressive," Brass noted as he sipped a glass of Scotch while their waitress removed the dishes of their dinner. "So when do you defend your title?" His gibe managed to cut through the look of quiet reflection on Sara's face and she rolled her eyes comically. They had come to the Bellagio for dinner after the match, but Sara had said very little since she walked out of the locker room, and both Brass and Warrick had watched her worriedly throughout dinner.

"I'm not." Her quiet voice cut the silence that had again descended on the table.

"Sara?" Warrick questioned softly, as her low voice barely carried over the noise from the other diners.

"I'm not." She finally looked up to meet both sets of concerned eyes. "Going to compete again." Her small shake of her head seemed even more emphatic because of the small tight movement.

"Why not?"

Her eyes were once again drawn to her hands, as they had been all night, and she absently rubbed her knuckles with her thumb. "Remember that fight case, that fighter Steele died?" Warrick nodded, remembering the case and that they had worked one it together, but not a lot of details. "You ever wonder why I decided to take up boxing of all things? When I saw that billboard while running, I remembered our conversation about mind and body in the ring that day, and decided that I needed to give the body a try. And when I was asked to compete, I was flattered and I wanted to see if I could do it." Again, the tiniest of movement of her head conveyed so much emphasis. "But competition isn't for me."

"No? You did real well in there."

"Yeah, I did. Maybe I mean, this kind of competition isn't me. I enjoy boxing and training, but intentionally striking someone… isn't something I want to do." Warrick and Brass both nodded in understanding. "When we were working that case, I remember wondering how Laroi Steele got into that ring, and now I know: it was brave," And her wry smile finally reached her eyes, but still didn't dispel all of the sadness that lurked there, "and still incredibly stupid." 


	3. The Neighborhood

**The Neighborhood**

The mid-afternoon sun brightened Sara's hair, but paled in comparison to her huge smile as she rubbed at a spot just below the kitten's chin and elicited an even louder purr. "Isn't he cute?" she asked, half-turning so Warrick could see the tiny black ball of fluff in her hands. The kitten stretched up on his front claws to rub his head under her chin, and the laughter that bubbled from Sara's throat was freer and happier than he had ever heard from her before. They had been walking around his neighborhood's annual block party and yard sale for half an hour before she had spotted the kittens rolling and playing in the grass, completely surrounded by half of the neighborhood kids as they were passed from hand to hand. One was finally deposited in Sara's hands as she stood there, as enthralled as any of the kids.

Warrick gestured at the sign: "Free to a good home" and then at the kitten in her hands. "Why don't you take him?"

She was tempted, he could tell, as she scratched between the kitten's ears, the low rumbling purr almost too loud for such a small body. Smiling sadly, she gave the kitten a last pet before giving him to a young girl who had been staring at the kitten in Sara's hands wistfully. "I can't. No animals are allowed in my apartment complex and with my schedule, I wouldn't take very good care of him."

"I'm sure you're under-estimating your abilities as a caretaker," Warrick suggested, seeing the way she twisted slightly to keep sight of the kittens as they walked away.

"Warrick, I can't even keep a plant alive."

"Plants are different from kittens."

"Yes, yes, they are. How very observant of you," she teased, finally turning back from the kittens to catch sight of a lemonade stand a couple of houses down. "Are you thirsty?"

Warrick watched as she joined the line around the stand, where two pre-teens were making a killing, helped by the hot Nevada sun. Another kid came running out of the house behind the stand, carrying a huge pitcher of lemonade in his small hands. Warrick had wandered over to a stack of records, looking through absently while his mind recalled the broad smile on Sara's face as she had handled the kitten and he made his decision. Making sure she was still in line for lemonade, he slipped over to the owners of the kittens and pointed out the one Sara had been holding.

They spent another hour hitting all of the sales, finding an even more inventive group of kids on the next block, selling popsicles, and Warrick loved the surprised laugh she gave when he correctly guessed her favorite flavor, lime. They were making their way through one of the busier sales as he teased her.

"Lime? Nobody likes lime. You always have to be just a little odd, don't you, Sidle?" he said, leaning over her back as he tried to lick her popsicle. When he laughed openly at the horrified look she had shot him, Sara had joined in, knowing her issues with germs and saliva were almost legendary around the lab by now.

Shoving him away from her food, Sara turned around to face him, indicating his treat with a gesture. "Keep to your own sicle," she mock-warned, her eyes dancing above her widening smile.

"Or what?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. "What are you going to do, Sidle?" Warrick's posture and knowing smirk conveyed his challenge clearly; he enjoyed baiting the slim woman in front of him, and he was finding that she was in match in the teasing department when she was in a good mood. Which she was in, much more often than before.

With a smirk of her own, Sara stood on her tiptoes and leaned over so that her face was only an inch away from Warrick's, her smirk widening as Warrick's breath caught in his throat. He stood frozen as her tongue slipped between her lips to moisten them, and then she made her move, twisting her head to the side to snag a bite out of his popsicle. Her triumphant smile at his shocked expression brought an amused chuckle from him, and he was glad for his dark skin to hide his embarrassment.

"I like cherry popsicles too," she laughed. "So you better eat yours before I do."

"You do know my saliva was all over that popsicle, don't you?"

"I'm ok with your saliva," she replied, stepping around a particularly ugly lawn ornament someone was trying to get rid of. "Who would buy that?" she asked rhetorically, shaking her head.

He caught up with her, leaning over her back again so his mouth was right beside her ear. "So are you saying it's ok if we swap spit?" Sara's head snapped to him and her mouth opened, but nothing came out. He grinned as he stepped around her, glad that her skin didn't hide the blush that heated her face. She swatted his arm and glared, but he didn't seem to notice as he contentedly licked his popsicle.

**xxx**

Sara sighed as the sun started to lower and people started to put away their wares. She had had a fun time with Warrick just wandering around and looking at junk, and if some of the stares from the predominately black members of the neighborhood hadn't been particularly friendly, they hadn't been particularly hostile either.

She knew Warrick was known as being one of the success stories in his neighborhood, and some of the older women hadn't been shy in trying to hook him up with their daughters or granddaughters, all the while shooting Sara 'back off' looks. His embarrassed expression as he had handed back photos and turned down the offers had been amusing. And his reaction earlier, when she had faked him out with the popsicle, had been a boost for her ego, as his sea-green eyes had been inviting her to kiss him. As tempted as she had been, she wasn't sure how she felt about the idea of kissing her co-worker so soon after resolving her feelings for Grissom, so she had taken the action least likely to cause workplace repercussions. However, his warm breath in her ear when he had teased her about swapping spit aroused a sense of disappointment that she hadn't taken the opportunity when she might have.

Warrick caught her arm and pulled her toward the last house on the row, where the crowd of children had decreased considerably from earlier. "Just one more stop," he said as he led her over.

"Warrick," Sara warned as she lagged behind, afraid he was going to try to convince her to take a kitten home. At his approach, the elderly woman picked up one of the kittens and deposited it into his arms, smiling up at him as they exchanged a few words. When he turned and started back to Sara, she shook her head and took a step back. "No, oh, no, no, no. I told you, I can't have pets in my building," she said firmly as he kept coming toward her with the kitten.

"He's not going to your place. He's going to mine."

Her expression was disbelieving. "You're getting a kitten."

"No, well, kinda. He," Warrick said, indicating the kitten sleeping in the crook of his arm, "needs a home. You like him. And I can have pets."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that he'll be a joint-custody kitten. He'll stay at my place, but we'll both take care of him."

"We will." Her tone warned that he was getting too close to making decisions for her, something he knew she hated. _Girl is just too independent sometimes_, he thought.

"Yes, we will." Warrick gently shifted the kitten to her arms, scratching the dark furry head as he nuzzled into the warmth of Sara's body and got comfortable by stretching both his front paws out, looking completely adorable. "Unless you really don't want him," Warrick continued, giving her an out that he knew she didn't want to take.

Sara glared and him, and then looked down at the purring bundle in her arms with a soft smile. "Of course I want him," she pouted, "but that's not the point." Hearing her acceptance in her voice, if not her words, Warrick smiled at how cute her independent streak could be.

"That's exactly the point." When Sara didn't look up to meet his eyes, just kept playing with the kitten and walking to his house, Warrick knew he had won. "So, what do you want to name him?"

"Well, with all this purring, it seems like he's a music maker like you, so why not," she paused for a moment, thinking, before suggesting, "Coltrane?" Glancing up to see if he liked her suggestion, the warmth and approval in his eyes caused a slight fluttering feeling in her stomach, and she wondered suddenly if it was a good idea to spend so much time with this man as their joint-custody arrangement would require.

But his next words sealed the deal, and she had no more chances to back out. "Coltrane it is, then."


	4. The Foyer

**Foyer**

Warrick leaned on the counter, absently stirring the vegetables in the skillet every few moments. They had returned to the house to realize that the new addition to the household was ill-equipped for his first night in his new home, so Sara had run to the store to pick up some supplies. As soon as she had left, Warrick had hurried to cook dinner as one of way to extend the time he was able to spend with her. Now, it was almost ready and it had been over an hour since Sara had left, and just as Warrick was about to worry, the door burst open to reveal Sara, dragging in what had to be half the pet store in plastic bags.

Leaning against the doorway to the kitchen to watch his co-worker drop her load of bags, chuckling at her slightly disheveled appearance, but quickly quieting when she shot him an exasperated look. "Um, Sara, he's just a kitten, not a kid going off to college," he teased, unable to keep from pointing out her blatant over-the-top shopping.

Her eyes narrowed in a glare, and her breath came out noisily as she tried to blow a lock of hair out of her face. "Have you been in a pet store lately?" He shook his head no, his eyes sparkling in amusement as she strode toward him. "You would not believe the stuff, the selection… there's like fifteen different types of food exclusively for kittens. And don't get me started on litter boxes…" She stopped abruptly as she got over to where Warrick stood, trying to glance around him into the kitchen. "What is that smell?"

"Hungry? I made vegetable fajitas, Mexican rice, and homemade salsa."

"Oh… wow," she said, stunned as he let her see into the kitchen, where candles lit the table, already beautifully set. He caught her elbow and led her to the table, settling in her seat before tossing the final ingredients onto a superheated skillet for a final searing. Dishing out filling into a tortilla on Sara's plate, he downplayed his reaction to her appreciative smile for his cooking abilities, pretending that this was a normal dinner at his house and not an attempt to impress her. Dinner conversation revolved around the kitten, naturally, and how the joint custody arrangement would work.

"Oh, that reminds me," Warrick said as he got up to refill her water glass. He set down a keyring beside her plate, "you'll need these." Her raised eyebrow questioned him wordlessly. "You may want or need to come in when I'm not here," he explained, "and this way, you won't have to work out in advance when you want to stop by."

Sara didn't look convinced. "Are you sure? I…"

"Yes, I'm sure. This way, if I'm caught at work or something, Coltrane will always be taken care of."

"Um, then maybe we should, um, figure out a signal or something for times when I shouldn't stop by." This time, it was his blank look that prompted an explanation, which Sara gave with a slight blush heating her cheeks. "Um, you know, in case you have a visitor and you don't want to be disturbed."

"Oh, that's not a problem. I don't bring women home." Her eyes narrowed in confusion and disbelief, and he waved a hand to indicate the house. "This is gram's house. It's not someplace I bring casual acquaintances." He looked down at his plate as he said this, missing a flicker of surprise cross her face. "Oh, man, I have to take a shower and get ready for work." He sighed, not wanting to end the evening. "You're off tonight, aren't you?" At her nod, he smiled, a little abashed. "Um, do you think you could take care of getting some of that truckload of stuff you bought set up? I need to run a couple of errands before work tonight."

Laughing and nodding, Sara picked up her plate to set it in the sink. "I think this is where the 'joint custody' comes into play." Thinking of her own pre-work ritual, Sara asked, "Do you want me to make coffee for you to take into work?"

"Yeah, that would be great," he replied as he paused in the door to give her a wide smile that warmed his eyes and hit her right about the knees, and Sara was suddenly glad she was standing by the counter. Then he was gone, and she turned back to making coffee, silently cursing herself for her physical reaction to her handsome co-worker and trying to convince herself she couldn't fall for anyone at the lab, not ever again. Coffee made and ruminations complete, she found Coltrane napping on the couch and she curled up around his slight frame, eliciting a contented rumble from his chest as she wondered if getting him had been a huge mistake.

When Warrick came back downstairs, he found her in the same position, rubbing Coltrane's belly as he rolled around on his back, the bags still sitting in the foyer. Setting down a cup of coffee on coffee table, he grinned down at the silly and utterly happy smile on Sara's face as the kitten toyed with her long, graceful fingers, and he had a sudden flash of jealousy for the kitten.

"I see you got far in the unpacking."

"Oh, damn, Warrick, I'm sorry, I'll…" Sara moved to get up from the couch, but his hand held her down in her original position.

"This is why I gave you keys, remember? Unfortunately, I do have to go, but stay as long as you like." He indicated the purring bundle on the couch. "It's his first night in his new house; I think it's good if you are here to keep him company for a while." Shrugging into his jacket, he picked up his bag and travel mug. "Um, Sara, you're welcome to, I mean, you know where the guest bedroom is if you need."

**xxx**

His errands to the dry cleaners and the music store had taken more time than he had anticipated, and then unusual and unexpected heavy traffic tied up his usual route, so when he finally got into the lab, Warrick was over half an hour late for his shift. He had tried calling Grissom, but his call went straight to voice-mail, and he had had no luck reaching Catherine either. So by the time he was walking down the hallway to the break room, a sense of disquiet had settled around him.

That sense burst into full-fledged panic when he saw Nick and Catherine sitting on the couch in the break room, watching an emergency broadcast on TV. "Hey guys, what's going on?" he asked, his panic ratcheting up a few more notches when they turned to him and he noticed Catherine was crying and Nick looked like he wished he could.

"Warrick." Nick's tone was quiet, somber, as if he was trying to even get the single word out.

"Nick…. Catherine… what's wrong?"

Nick drew in a breath, his eyes closing briefly, before getting out the words. "Warrick, it's… Sara."

**xxx**

**AN: **Sorry for the short, and not terribly inspired, chapter. That's what happened to set-up chapters. Next chapter will be up soon.


	5. The Crime Lab

**The Crime Lab**

AN: Sorry for the angst interrupting the sweetness, Jacinda. It was a necessary angst and I'm an angst whore, but I think I end this chapter with enough fluff. And thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing; I appreciate it. And feel free to give hard crit if you have it. Oh, and I think I made up for that short set-up chapter here.

**xxx**

"What, what do you mean, it's Sara?" Warrick's voice boomed in the small space as he demanded an explanation, knowing that he was seconds away from throttling his friend if he didn't get an answer. _What could have happened? I just saw her, she was just at my house… was she in a car accident? _

Nick was taken back by a wild, uncontrollable look in the taller man's eyes; he had expected Warrick to take this hard, but the intensity of this reaction surprised him. "Warrick, man, maybe you better have a seat?"

Warrick shook off his hand, shaking his head. "Just tell me what happened to Sara."

Catherine had moved up behind Nick, her red-rimmed eyes sympathetic. "Warrick, there was an explosion, at Sara's apartment complex. There were… fatalities and Sara, she, she's off tonight."

_Explosion, her apartment_._ Sara._ The words reverberated through his head, but he struggled to comprehend them. "When?"

"What?"

"When was the explosion?"

Nick took over the explanation as Catherine's voice choked. "We got the call about fifteen minutes ago. The explosion happened approximately thirty minutes ago. We've been trying Sara's cell phone, but it goes directly to voice mail, and well, her home phone…" Nick's eyes sought the floor as he struggled with his emotions. "We don't know, for sure." But everyone assumed, since Sara wasn't known to have much of a social life. And if she wasn't at the lab, nobody could imagine any other place she would be.

Warrick leaned back against the counter, mentally calculating times before grabbing his cell phone from the holder on his belt. Sara's apartment complex wasn't far from his house, so she could have easily finished setting up the cat food and litter box and been home in plenty of time to be caught. He shook off the direction his thoughts were going as he stabbed the keys quickly, punching in his home phone as Nick tried to pull the phone from his hand. "We've tried her cell and left all kinds of messages, man."

Shaking him off, Warrick listened to his own voice on the answering machine until the beep sounded. "Sara. Sara, it's Warrick. If you are there, pick up." The second ticked by as he talked through the tape, his hand tightening painfully on the phone in his hand. "Sara, please pick up, are you there, pick up, Sara!" He knew he was a second away from screaming when he heard a click on the other end of the line.

"Warrick?" The whine of feedback from the answering machine caused her to curse, but it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard at that moment. "Let me turn this damn thing off," she muttered, "where, ah ok, got it. You still there?"

Warrick felt his body sag against the counter as if every bone in his body had become jelly, and the breath he didn't know he had been holding exhaled audibly. Catherine and Nick exchanged a wide-eyed look, and he motioned to Catherine and Nick, mouthing 'she's ok' to them.

"Sara, hey, you, uh, have your cell phone off," he stammered.

"Yeah, I didn't want to get called in on my day off. Did you forget something at the house?" She kept talking as if she was distracted by something. "You're not calling me in to work, are you?" His silence must have tipped her off, because when he didn't immediately answer, the tension in her tone ratcheted up another degree or two. "Warrick, is something wrong? Someone there hurt?"

"No, everyone's ok here. We were worried about you."

"What do you mean, worried about me? I'm fine, except—ouch—that your boy here has sharp little claws. Yes, you do," she muttered under her breath, obviously to the kitten, and he chuckled under his breath despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Sara, I have some news. We were… worried because there was an explosion. At your apartment building. There were fatalities."

"What? My apartment building? When? How?"

"I don't have any details yet. I just got here and everyone was trying to reach you and, well…"

Her voice on the other end of the line was understanding, reassuring as she muttered, "I'm here, I'm ok. Ok?" A pause stretched over the line and he heard her breathing deeply, obviously trying to process the news. "Do… are we… do I need to come in?"

"I'm not sure, I haven't got all the info yet. Turn on your cell and keep it with you – I'll call shortly to let you know if we are working the scene or not, ok?"

"Ok… ouch."

"What?"

"Ornery kitten." In spite of the pain he knew she felt, her voice was warm and he could picture her smile as Coltrane worked his charm, and he grinned at the picture he was painting in his head.

Warrick half-turned away from Catherine and Nick, who were watching him carefully with all kinds of questions in their eyes, and lowered his voice. "Umm, I'm going to have to tell people here about, you know. You ok with that?" He knew Sara wanted to keep her personal life private, but he also knew there was no way their co-workers would let him get away telling them to mind their own business.

"I have to be, don't I?" Sara sighed, and then a small chuckle came across the line to his ears. "I'm just glad I'm not the one who has to explain our joint-custody kitten to everyone. Enjoy!" With that, she hung up the phone, leaving him to face their friends. _She is so gonna pay for that_, he thought, as he caught the suspicious glint in Catherine's eye. And she didn't waste any time in starting the interrogation. "So Sara's ok?"

He nodded, still breathing deeply to relieve the tight ball of tension that had taken up residence in the middle of his chest. "Yeah, she, uh, wasn't at home."

Grissom had walked in during that last sentence. "Sara?" he questioned, his voice both nervous and hopeful as he scanned their faces.

"Yeah, Gil, she's ok," Catherine answered. "Warrick just got off the phone with her."

"So where is she?" he asked, innocently, and Nick and Catherine both looked at Warrick expectantly.

Warrick sighed, facing his co-workers reluctantly. He knew what assumptions they would make about this. "Sara is at my place." His glare cut off Nick's strangled coughing fit. "And it's NOT what you think" he said. "I took her to the annual block party in my neighborhood, you know, the one I took you to a couple of years ago," he gestured toward Nick, "you, Lindsey, and I went to last year. This year was Sara's turn."

"And she just stayed at your place after you left?" Catherine's tone was deliberately bland, almost innocent. Her assumption that there was more to the story was correct, but not in the way she was thinking.

"Well, Sara needed to finish up some things." Catherine's raised eyebrow, Grissom's puzzled look, and Nick's smirk told him he would have to explain everything. "We, um,… adopted a kitten. Sara ran to the pet store to get some supplies and she was setting up the house and spending some time with him before she left."

"A kitten?" Nick choked out, incredulous. "_You_ got a kitten."

"Yeah, kinda. Sara fell in love with him, and she can't have pets at her apartment, so…" He shrugged. His eyes were drawn to the TV behind his friends, still broadcasting images of flames and wreckage. "If we hadn't gotten him, Sara would have been there."

They stood in silence for a moment, staring at the images flickering across the screen, the gravity of what they had almost lost weighing on them. It was bad enough that they spent most of their time among the dead, but every time they lost someone they knew, it got harder and harder to continue their work.

Grissom finally broke the silence. "We'll be working the scene, but it will be an hour or two before the fire is under control and we can get in there. Until then, we'll get caught up on paperwork and rest. It'll be a long night and probably day once we hit the scene. Swing and days are on their way in as well."

"What about Sara?" Warrick asked, quietly.

"What about her? It's her night off."

"All hands on deck and you aren't going to call her in? You know she'll want to work this." When Grissom seemed to hesitate, Catherine broke in to lend her support to Warrick. "She'll be pissed if she's kept from this case, Gil. And she might be a good insider on this."

He sighed. "Call her. Tell her to take a nap or something, and that I'll call her when the building is clear and we'll meet her there."

**xxx**

Warrick pulled next to a familiar SUV and got out of his vehicle, his eyes scanning the crowd. As the rest of the team joined him, he sighted a familiar silhouette—bulky jacket and watch cap included—just on this side of the yellow crime scene tape. Something in her stance made him pause; a whirl of activity played in the background, and yet she stood so still, as if turned to stone by the scene in front of her. Approaching cautiously, Warrick didn't notice that everyone else hung back, letting him to be the first to approach, nor did he notice the narrowed eyes of his boss watching as he made this first move. All he noticed as he got closer was that her stillness was a mirage, that a slight tremble shook her entire body with every breath. "Sara?" he called quietly in the din, afraid he would surprise her with a louder tone.

She didn't look at him, didn't seem to notice him, except that she raised her arm slowly, pointing into the heart of the destruction. "That's my apartment," she said simply, her voice devoid of any emotion. He saw another breath cause a shudder to run through her body, the outstretched arm visibly shaking now, and he reached out and pulled her into a hug just as her stoic mask crumbled. His arms tightened on her shoulders as her body shook, resting his chin on the top of her head as he whispered, "It's ok" over and over again. And still he didn't notice Grissom staring at them; all he felt was the shaking lessen, until Sara pressed against his chest as a signal that she was ok, muttering a simple "Thanks" as she ran a hand under her eyes and through her hair, making herself presentable before facing the rest of the team.

She didn't get a chance to say anything before Catherine pulled her into a tight hug, surprising the taller woman. "I, god, I was so… so scared." She pulled back a bit so that she could look up into Sara's face, as if to make sure it really was her. "We thought we lost you." Nick had joined them, wrapping an arm around Sara's shoulders and squeezing. "We really did, Sar. That was the worst half-hour of my life."

"I'm ok," Sara told them firmly, casting a reassuring smile at Catherine, then Nick, and finally to Grissom, who stood back, watching the outpouring of affection among his team as though he were trying to memorize the scene so he could take notes and analyze it later.

"Thank god," Catherine gave her a final squeeze before letting go.

Brass had watched the display with amusement, glad to see Sara's co-workers express their worry so openly, except for one notable exception. Grissom ignored his raised eyebrow and not-so-obvious head gesture to 'get in there,' but he didn't expect much else. Sara had called him as soon as she had hung up with Warrick, and he had spent a quiet five minutes in his car recovering after that brief conversation. He ducked under the tape, allowing himself a brief hug and a quiet, "It's good to see you," before getting down to business.

"It'll be another thirty minutes before you can get in there. The bomb squad wants to make a final sweep. The arson investigator will go with you along with a couple of firefighters, and he wants a max of three CSIs in there. The place is pretty sturdy, but still…" he shrugged.

Grissom eyed his team carefully. "Ok, then…"

"I'm on the team inside," Sara said quietly, staring at Grissom as if she expected an argument, but he just nodded. "That makes sense; you know the building." He scanned the rest of the team, seeing Warrick's determined expression and continued, "And Warrick and I will also go. Catherine, Nick, interview witnesses, talk to the manager, and track down the maintenance records for this place."

"Sara, while you're waiting, I have a favor to ask of you. We still haven't identified all the victims yet, and I was wondering if you could…" he faltered in his request, seeing a flicker of pain cross her face. But it was gone in a moment, and she let out a deep breath before saying, "Yes, of course. I don't know everyone in the building," she apologized as she followed Brass under the tape, missing the glare that Grissom shot the detective as they walked away.

When they returned fifteen minutes later, Sara was several shades paler, her eyes haunted. For once, Grissom was the first to act, catching her arm as she stepped under the tape and asking, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she replied, distractedly.

"Next time," he said, glaring at Brass, "you need to ask me before you make a request like that to one of my CSIs."

"Hey, Grissom, it's ok," Sara jumped in, with a glare of her own.

"You shouldn't have had to do that."

"I helped, end of story," she told him flatly, holding his eyes for another second before heading to her SUV. "I'm going to get my kit." Warrick followed, heading back to his own vehicle and keeping a careful eye on Sara, leaving Grissom and Brass alone.

"Gil, I would have spared her the pain if I could." He finally met Grissom's eyes. "Two of the fatalities were in the apartment directly under her apartment, another from the apartment beside hers, and another two stories above her. If she had been there…" Brass shook his head, his mouth set into a hard line, before he walked away.

**xxx**

"Here's the laundry room and through there's the boiler room; this is the epicenter of the explosion," the arson inspector explained as the CSI team spread out to examine the room. Both Grissom and Warrick kept a careful eye on Sara, who was shining her light around the room carefully, seemingly puzzled by something.

"These dryers are out of place, displaced by the explosion," she said, almost to herself. "Which would make the first action in the boiler room," the inspector finished her thought as he started to squeeze himself through the semi-collapsed door. Sara followed him carefully, but held out a hand to stop Grissom. "Hold on, it's a tight fit for just the two of us." The whine and then flash of the camera continued for some time, and then she passed the camera out and requested the video camera. "That doesn't look right," she said, looking over the inspector's shoulder at pieces of the boiler. "Those look like hammer impressions. Who uses a hammer to work on a boiler?"

"Nobody," came his reply as he picked up a few fragments and passed them to Grissom and Warrick. Motioning for her to precede him, they slid back through the doorway. "I think we got everything, but do you want to take a look for yourself, Supervisor Grissom?"

He shook his head, and assured. "No, I trust CSI Sidle was very thorough." He and Warrick finished packing up the evidence and they started winding their way out of the building. Just as they reached the exit, the inspector asked, "Um, CSI Sidle? If you'd like to see your apartment, see if there's anything you can salvage, we could check."

She glanced up to the second floor, where her apartment was, before nodding. Grissom took the evidence bags from Warrick's hands and handed them to one of the firefighters. "Go with her. I'll get this back to the lab and see you there."

The door had been chopped down; obviously, the firefighters had checked the apartment _for my dead body_, Sara thought as her stomach rolled over. She couldn't believe the devastation; the ceiling of her bedroom had collapsed, making it impossible to get into the room. Standing in the center of her living room, she tried to think of anything that was worth looking for, but, faced with what had been her home for three years, her mind was blank.

Warrick, meanwhile, had quietly gathered a few things into a box, seeing her inability to process the scene in front of her. "There's nothing left," Sara said quietly as she turned, suddenly in a hurry to get out. Spying her gym bag by the door, where she usually tossed it when she came in, she grabbed it and headed down the stairs. Outside, she dropped the bag and leaned heavily on her knees, breathing deeply to drive the acrid smell of smoke out of her lungs. After putting the box and gym bag in his car, Warrick waited by the cars and gave her a few minutes to regain her composure. When she finally joined him there, she managed to meet his concerned look with a small smile before telling him she would meet him back at the lab.

**xxx**

"So the builders skimped on materials and the building wasn't up to code, the vandalism caused a gas leak, and an improperly serviced dryer sent out a spark?"

"And nine people died, yes." Grissom surveyed the exhausted faces surrounding him at the conference table. They had shifted through the crime scene at a surprising fever pitch, and given the help from the arson/explosive investigator, had figured out the apartment explosion over the course of a single shift. "Good work, everyone. Now head home and get some rest." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Grissom's eyes widened as he realized what he had said, and he turned to the dark-haired woman sitting to his left, studiously looking down at her hands on the table. "Sara, I'm…"

She shook her head, shaking off his concern. "It's ok."

Catherine shot him a dirty look before she piped up, "Sara, why don't you stay with me? I'd love to have you and you can stay as long as you need."

"Or," Nick broke in, "you can stay with me. I have plenty of room too."

Sara had risen up from her chair and was slowly making her way to the door, not looking at anyone in the room. "It's ok," she mumbled, "I'm going to stay at a hotel, for a few days, I want to be alone."

"That's not a good idea, Sara," Catherine began, while Nick seconded her with a 'yeah.' Sara turned to face them, a sad but stubborn expression on her face. "I appreciate your concern, but…"

Grissom listened to the argument about where Sara was staying, and all of her objections to their plans, with growing interest. He thought he might have to step in, since he knew on a personal as well as a professional level that Sara wouldn't say no to staying at his place. As he opened his mouth to speak, another voice beat him to it.

"You are staying with me." Warrick had come up behind her and stood with his arms folded across his chest. When Sara turned, he stared down into Sara's eyes, a feat not many could replicate. Sara glared back, folding her arms and mimicking his stance perfectly. From the side, they looked like a couple of gunfighters, staring each other down before the big showdown.

"Warrick, I'm staying at a hotel," she told him in a tone that allowed for no disagreement.

"No way, Sara. We agreed." Her face screwed up in confusion and she was about to protest when he raised his finger and cut her off. "We agreed on joint-custody. You are not going to leave me with an infant kitten while you go off and live it up in some strip hotel with room service and an in-room masseuse."

Her eyes were deceptively cool as she surveyed the stubborn expression on his face "Don't tell me you are playing the kitten card."

"Damn straight."

"That's low."

"And leaving me with a new kitten isn't? Think about it, while you are standing here being stubborn, our kitten is all alone in that new big scary house just waiting for someone to come home and play with him." Sara watched as his mouth stretched into a hard line, like he was trying to keep from smiling or laughing, but an amused twinkle in his eyes ruined his attempt.

Her eyes narrowed. "You think a blatant appeal to my emotional sentimentality will work?" Sara got the words out without cracking, but the twinkle in Warrick's eyes ended up being her undoing. She was amazed she got the kitten card line out without laughing, but now her mouth was already twisting into a half grin and she knew she was lost.

"Yup," he said, triumphantly as an infectious smile spread across both their faces. Their friends watching them from the table were amazed at how the mood had lightened in the space of just a few moments. Warrick shook his head in mock-dismay. "The kitten card? Talk about low…" he moaned, causing Sara to chuckle.


	6. The Living Room

**The Living Room**

Sara laid a hand on Warrick's arm, smiling up at him, "Ok, you win. I'll stay with you." When he raised his eyebrows to signal his triumph, she continued, stubbornly. "But only because of Coltrane."

"Coltrane?" came from Catherine as she watched their ease with each other with interest. Nick and Sara had been flirty when Sara had first arrived, but that had slowed a lot last year during the whole promotion competition. Warrick and Sara had, after a rocky start, been friendly, but Catherine couldn't remember their interactions this friendly, almost flirting, before. She glanced over at Grissom, whose impassive expression seemed to indicate that he wasn't picking up the same vibe she was.

Sara's broad smile as she turned back to the rest of the team surprised Catherine, and she once again marveled at how quickly Warrick was able to both make her stay with him and help her mood immensely. This could get interesting, she thought to herself, as Nick caught her eye with an exaggerated lift of his eyebrows and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was.

"Coltrane is the kitten." Sara suddenly yawned, hugely, and she glanced around the table, embarrassed.

"Sara, I want you to take the next couple of nights off—"

"Grissom…"

"—you'll need daytime hours to contact your insurance agency, call rental agencies, and replace some of your belongings. So just take the days off and get yourself situated, ok?" Sara gave an exasperated sigh, but nodded her head. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll call if we get swamped."

"But you can always have me running back-up," Greg announced as he stopped in the doorway.

"Yeah, cuz you are so Sara's equal to be her replacement? Credit that."

Sara stifled another huge yawn, and started to make her way toward the door of the break room. "Warrick, I'll see you at your place in about an hour. I need to do a little bit of shopping, pick up some essentials."

"Maybe I should go with?"

"I don't need you following me around while I'm picking up new underwear and shampoo."

"Yeah, she needs me!" Greg laughed. "Especially if you are going to pick up something lacy and black." Sara was too far away, but Warrick read her expression and smacked Greg in the back of the head. "Hey! What was that for?"

Sara ignored Greg, slipping past both of them. "Warrick, I said I'd stay. I'll be there. Go home and check on Coltrane and fix breakfast or something."

"Pancakes?"

Her answering smile was as wide as his as they remembered their first meal together at his house. "Sounds great."

He thought of something quickly, and called after her. "Sara, are you going by the grocery?"

"I can stop by." A teasing smirk pulled at the corners of her mouth. "Why? Are you out of chocolate syrup?" The instant the words were out of her mouth, Sara realized how they would sound to their co-workers, and Catherine's mouth hanging open confirmed her suspicion. Sara bit her bottom lip as a flush spread over her cheeks. "For the pancakes," she emphasized lamely, knowing that her slip was about to net her a months worth of ribbing—at least—from the expressions on Nick's and Greg's face.

Warrick cringed in sympathy as he saw the blush flame across her cheeks. "Um, no, bananas." Sara nodded and was striding away quickly down the hallways, looking doggedly ahead of her. "At least two pounds," he yelled to her retreating back.

"So when did you make Sara pancakes, man?" Nick asked suggestively.

Warrick glare didn't seem to deter Nick, so he crossed his arms across his chest and looked down at the shorter man, his expression decidedly cool. "A couple of weeks ago, she came by before shift and we had breakfast. No. Big. Deal."

"I dunno, bro. You don't make me pancakes before shift. Maybe that's only something the two of you do. With chocolate syrup."

From behind them, Greg chanted. in a sing-song voice, "Warrick and Sara, sitting in a tree." Warrick stopped and spun around so fast Greg ran into him, and then took several quick steps back when he saw the anger in Warrick's eyes.

"Cut it out, Greg. Sara just lost her home and saw several people she lived with on a slab today. I'm her friend to her and that's it. Don't," he warned, "make anything out of that. And don't give her a hard time about our living arrangement. She doesn't need that right now." He paused, making eye contact with Greg, before looking over Greg's shoulder to Nick. "Are we clear?" Greg nodded, and Nick held up his hands in a disarming gesture. With that, Warrick spun on his heel and headed toward the locker room.

**xxx**

The first thing Warrick did when he got home was take the box and gym bag out of his SUV, setting Sara's bag gloves, Cds, a photo album, and a few odds and ends he had rescued from the apartment on the back patio to air out. The gym clothes he gathered together and took into the laundry room, the smell of smoke trailing him into the house. He changed into a pair of jogging pants and a white t-shirt before loading the washer, adding extra detergent in hopes that it would remove the stench of smoke that seemed to linger on everything.

He had almost forgotten Coltrane, until he heard a tiny meow coming from the spare bedroom. Sara had set up everything in the one room, Picking up the small, furry body, Warrick rubbed the sensitive spot under his chin as he made his way down the stairs to start breakfast; he was surprised by the rustle of shopping bags by the door, and looked up to see Sara drop a much smaller load of bags than she had had last night for the cat down by the door.

"You didn't get very much," he commented as she walked past him into the kitchen with a grocery bag.

Setting the bag down, Sara turned to face him and that's when he noticed the deep, dark circles under her eyes. "I" she waved her hand wearily in the vague direction of the bags, "really didn't feel like shopping. I…" her words trailed off as her eyes looked up and away, scrunched as if she was trying to hold in tears. Suddenly she was wrapped up in his arms, overwhelmed by the smell of soap and laundry detergent as she buried her face into his shirt. When her sobbing lessened, the first sensation Sara became aware of was his heartbeat, a solid, comforting beat emanating from warm expanse of his chest. Then it was his hands, rubbing her back soothingly, that she noticed, and his quiet words of comfort. Given her past with men, which she often characterized as one long futile string of heartbreak and misery punctuated with long stretches of loneliness, it was amazing to her how safe she felt in the circle of his arms. _Don't get used to this, Sidle, You know where this would end up, _she cautioned herself, but she still found herself reluctant to move.

So she stood there and listened to his heartbeat for a few more minutes and enjoyed the transitory feeling of security before she sighed and whispered "Thank you."

Warrick didn't release her immediately. Instead, he tightened his hold and kept her close. "I won't pretend to understand." His voice was a pleasant vibration against her ear, and she let it travel through her body, not wasting much time on deciphering his exact words. "I've always had a home, a place, and I get the sense that you haven't had that in a long time." She didn't say anything, neither confirming nor denying his words, letting them rumble through her instead. "But you have a home here, with me, and with Coltrane," he indicated the kitten who was snaking his way between their legs and purring up a storm, "for as long as you need." They stood in silence for a few more moments, before Sara roused herself and told him, "Thanks." Her voice was firmer, and she finally managed to leave his arms.

"Hey, why don't you go take a quick shower while I fix breakfast?" He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and let his fingers linger there, trying to preserve the moment where she would let him touch her. As if afraid to face him after her crying bout, she just nodded before stepping away. Left standing in the suddenly too-empty kitchen, Warrick wondered if she realized how close he had been to sliding his hand around to the back of her neck so he could tilt her head back and kiss her. He wondered if she would have let him, and what it would have meant if she had.

**xxx**

Opening the front door, a delicious smell wafted through the house to greet Warrick the next morning. Sara had eaten, saying very little between yawns, and then disappeared to her room the entire day and he hadn't seen her before he left, but the living room looked like she had been up for some time: three of his backlog of forensic journals were on the coffee table and if he didn't know any better, his Playstation had been taken out.

But the sight in the kitchen was what really tipped him off: two dozen muffins and fresh loaf of bread were sitting on a cooling rack, and Sara appeared to be pulling another loaf out of the oven.

"Hey," he called, a little uncertainly, surprised by the domestic scene in front of him. Warrick hadn't known Sara could cook, and he never would have pictured her as the kind of person to have the patience for baking. When she returned his greeting absentmindedly, intent on checking the bread, he had to laugh at himself. _Like Sara hasn't been one surprise after another lately_, he told himself, _so of course she bakes. At this point, I shouldn't be surprised if she's secretly managing a sports book in her free time._

He chuckled out loud when she turned and he saw the long streak of flour stretching across her forehead and into her hair from where she had wiped stray strands of hair out of her eyes with her forearm, a habitual motion he had seen her do a hundred times at work when she had gloves on and needed to get her hair out of her eyes.

"What?"

Warrick snagged a kitchen towel and wiped the flour off while she carefully levered the loaf out of the pan, seemingly unaware of how close he was standing. A huge sigh escaped her lips, and she looked up at him with a contented smile. "All done."

"Smells great." Noticing a fresh pot of coffee, Warrick made a strategic retreat to fill them both a cup, fixing hers with sugar and cream before handing it to her. "What did you make?"

"Banana nut muffins, blueberry muffins, and two loafs of whole-grain wheat bread." She grabbed a basket and some napkins from the counter. "Hungry?"

"Starving," he replied, following her out to the couch. Settling in and helping himself to a muffin, Warrick asked, teasingly, "You going all domestic on me?"

An unreadable expression crossed her face and she toyed with the napkin in her hands. "I used to help out at my parent's bed and breakfast when I was young. We did a lot of baking. The process is… comforting."

Warrick sampled the muffin, and then looked at her, wide-eyed. "This is great, wow." She smiled in response, but the light didn't reach her eyes. "Are you ok?" he asked, his tone serious.

"Yeah, I'm alright." She set her half-eaten muffin down and picked up the coffee cup, playing with the rim. "I was in that store yesterday when it hit me, just everything, gone in an eyeblink. It hadn't really hit me before then for some reason. I just picked up a bottle of shampoo…" She shook herself, as if to rid herself of the thoughts. "From the moment I woke last night, I've been avoiding thinking about that. Hence," here she swept her hand to indicate the basket of muffins, "baking."

"And Playstation."

She mock-glared at him. "I like the driving games."

"Ah, so that's where you developed your, um, unique driving skill." He knew if he had been in reach, she would have smacked him, but instead she threw him a haughty look and picked up her muffin, pointedly ignoring him. Glad he had managed to cajole her into a better mood, he finished his first muffin and started on another, noticing but not commenting on her pleased smirk. Apparently, his distrust of her culinary skills had not been as hidden as he had thought.

"I'm thinking of buying a house." Sara's words broke the long silence. "I was thinking about what you said about not having a home, and you're right. It's been a long time, and maybe it's time to change that."

"Sounds good. Where are you thinking?"

"I don't know. Beyond the vague idea that I don't want to move into another apartment that feels like a temporary stopping point in a long road, I haven't made any decisions. Today, I need to call my insurance agents, do some more shopping, and maybe call some realtors. And I should go to the gym – I cancelled yesterday."

Warrick nodded in understanding. "Yeah, ease yourself back into your routine and take your time."

"I should look about a place quickly…"

"No rush," Warrick interrupted her firmly. "You can stay here as long as you need."

"Are you sure?"

"I like having you and Coltrane around." His grin widened, showing a wide expanse of teeth, his light eyes twinkling. "Especially if you are going to be all Betty Crocker around here. Do you do laundry too?"

The throw pillow caught him squarely in the chest.


	7. The Garage

**The Garage**

Brass' slide locked back as he emptied his clip, and he pressed the button to bring his target to the front as he glanced over at the tall brunette beside him, a frown marring her features as she stared down at her own target. As always, when Sara was troubled or upset, Brass found himself resisting the uncharacteristic urge to give her a hug and soothe her like he would his much younger daughter. Sometimes his restraint bothered him, like it did now, so he tried to draw her out. "Not your best," he noted carefully, watching her jaw tighten in anger—not directed at him, but at herself.

"Yeah."

"It's ok to be… distracted." He had searched for a better word to describe her mood, but everything else seemed likely to cause more, not less, stress, and he could see the slight tremble in her hand that told him she was already on the edge. It seemed like every time she got on top of things lately, something new and unexpected happened to send her skidding back into the dark place she had just left, and he stared at her, concern etching his face while his heart broke.

"Yeah," she agreed again, in complete monotone, as she bent down to police the brass at her feet. Jim did the same, wincing a little as his knees popped. They worked in silence for a few minutes, the sound casing clinking in the can sounding a steady rhythm to speed their work. Brass finally stopped, leaned back on his heels, and stared at the woman beside him.

"Are you going to let me in?" Sara sighed, a deep exhalation, but didn't otherwise respond. She continued to work steadily, not turning, not talking. "Sara… please?"

Her head sagged on her neck, as if she suddenly lost the strength to hold it up. "I'm sorry," she said in her low voice, her vowels elongating slightly like they did when she was trying to find words. "I'm really not good at talking about myself or my feelings."

"And I am? Yeah, us cops from Jersey are known for our soft sides."

She gave a short sniff of laughter at that, her head dipping lower to lean against the shelf support. "I don't know why I'm so freaked out about this. It's not like I had much to lose anyway. No mementos, family heirlooms, nothing really except a cheap mattress, a shoddy couch, and some clothes. Nothing I can't replace." A long silence stretched, and Jim could see her eyes were closed and her jaw was clenched. "I don't even remember what store I went to yesterday to pick up some stuff. I only managed to go through two aisles before I bolted out. I must have looked crazy. I must have scared the cashier, but I can't remember what she looked like. But I just don't know why this is so hard."

Jim spoke the words he knew were going through her head, unvoiced. "If you had been home, you would have been killed."

"Yeah." She lapsed into silence again, and when she opened her eyes, a haunted expression lurked there in the dark depths.

"Hey, I know," Jim began cheerfully, "I'm off tonight, so why don't we run to the mall, do some shopping?" When she snapped her head around to shoot him a suspicious look, he held up his hands in surrender. "I'll just be there to" he shrugged, "tell you how great you look when you try on clothes and get loaded down with the bags. I'll…," his voice slid lower, softer, "just be there."

Finally, she nodded, giving him a slight smile before standing up, brushing at the dust on her trousers. "Deal. But afterwards, I'm taking you out for a nice dinner."

"Hey, do I look like a guy who likes to miss meals? Or who turns down a beautiful woman asking me out?" This time, a different emotion flickered across her face, but before he could identify it, it was gone. "Ok, let's get these guns cleaned so we can hit the Gap." As Sara rolled her eyes at his choice of store, he chuckled. "What, I thought that's where all the young kids shop."

When her cell rang in the middle of said store, she opened it with a distracted, "Sidle," giving Jim an apologetic wiggle of her eyebrows.

"Hey, girl, where you been?"

"Oh, hey, Warrick. I was at the shooting range with Brass. I left a note."

"Yeah, I saw that when I woke up. I just expected to see you before I left for work."

Sara glanced down at watch in surprise. They had been shopping for much longer than she thought. "Oh, shit, Warrick, I totally lost track of time. We're, uh, shopping."

"We? As in you and Brass? Oh, man, I have to be missing out on seeing Brass follow you though the underwear department at Sears? That's so not fair."

"I do not buy my underwear at Sears," she retorted, but with a slight grin. Brass leaned in close to the handset and said, loudly enough for Warrick to hear, "You should have seen the black lace number at Victoria Secrets…" Warrick heard a muttered curse and the sound of Sara's hand connecting with Brass' stomach, and he laughed as he imagined the death glare Sara had fixed on the captain. "For your information, it was navy blue, not black," she informed him, and he could hear her smirk across the line.

"Oh, navy blue, I forgot. It must be the twelve pairs of shoes I'm carrying around that are making me weak and feeble-minded. Hey Rick, you're going to have to buy a bigger house to hold all this stuff. Sara has a serious shoe fetish I never knew about."

He heard her giggle into the phone, and he smiled in response. "Hey, I should go. Jim is starting to act like a martyr because I'm making him carry TWO pairs of shoes, so I better feed him before he turns on me and makes me carry my own bags. Have a good shift and I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll catch you tomorrow."

He shut the phone with a snap, still grinning, as he entered the break room. "Was that Sara?" Catherine asked as she looked up from the paper she was reading. "How's she doing?"

Setting down the basket of baked goods on the table, Warrick grabbed a napkin and picked up a muffin. "I think she's doing ok. I didn't see her this evening; she and Brass went shooting and then, apparently, shopping." He chuckled. "A lot of the techs are going to be bummed to find out that Brass got to go underwear shopping with Sara at Victoria's Secret."

Nick had just walked in the door, only to stop dead. "Now that was something I never wanted to visualize ever again." He shuddered. "This whole Brass/Sara friendship thing gives me the wiles. I mean, she always did have a thing for older guys." He nodded his head in the direction of Grissom's office and missed Warrick's eyes narrowing in consternation. "Oh, hey, muffins. Cath, you shouldn't have," he said as he grabbed one.

Catherine shrugged her shoulders and held up her hands. "I didn't."

"Sara did," Warrick told him.

The muffin stopped halfway to Nick's mouth as his hands froze, and he swallowed, glancing at Warrick nervously. "Sara? Baked muffins?"

"From scratch," Warrick assured him, his grin widening as Nick slowly lowered the muffin. "Well, maybe I'm not as hungry as I thought I was," he began as Warrick shook his head. "Nick, Nick, Nick, if Sara comes back to work and her muffins are sitting around, uneaten, she'll be hurt. Just eat one and get it over with, ok?"

Nick sighed and took a hesitant bite, chewing slowly as if he was trying to decide if it was poisoned, before he looked at them both with surprise. "Hey, this is good." He took another bite. "This is really good. Are you sure, uh, Sara made these? Maybe she just slipped out while you were sleeping and picked them up from a bakery."

Curious, Catherine reached for a pastry herself, taking an experimental nibble, and then shot Warrick an amazed look. "Yeah, all Sara. And you should try the wheat bread she baked: I had it for toast today …"

**xxx**

Two days later Sara wandered into the break room, stretching the kinks out of her neck as she headed for the coffee pot. Catherine's pen clicked in time to the radio as she sat at the table with her feet up, going over paperwork. "Hey, Cath," Sara hoisted the pot so she could see, "want a warm up?"

"Sure," Catherine said distractedly, holding up her cup as she kept reading. When she looked up to smile her thanks, she seemed to realize it was Sara, and she indicated the chair at her side. "First time we've had a breather all night. How are you holding up?"

"I'll be fine if people stop asking me that." Sara shot Catherine a sheepish grin to take the sting out of her words, "Sorry, but if one more person lowers their voice into that sympathetic tone to ask how I'm doing, I'm going to scream." Sighing, she dropped her head down to rotate it on her neck. "I just want everything to be back to normal, is that too much to ask?" she said, her voice muffled by her hands.

"Maybe. Sara, I'm sure everyone's saying the same thing, but for half an hour, we thought you were dead. You weren't here, you didn't see how people took that news. Jacqui disappeared into the washroom for fifteen minutes, I heard Doc Robbins cleared the morgue so nobody could see him break down, and Nick wasn't allowed to show any emotion because he had to sit here and hold me while I cried." Sara's eyes were wide as she listened to Catherine's recitation. "They're asking how you are doing because otherwise they are going to break down like I did at the scene the other night, and they know that would just embarrass you."

"I guess." Sipping her coffee, Sara leaned back in her chair, feeling the tension in her back creep up her shoulders. "The worst thing is the people I expected to be normal around me, like Nick and Greg, are acting weird around me."

"Weird?"

"Yeah. Greg hasn't flirted with me since I came back to work – he's all business every time I see him—and he seems very stiff and formal every time I'm around. And he nearly jumped out of his skin when Warrick came into the DNA lab looking for me. David won't make eye contact at all; he was staring at his shoes so hard he almost walked into an open drawer. And Nick… I expected to be busted for that chocolate syrup comment and nothing." She shook her head. "Not a damn thing. That's weird. And not just them either. Did I do something to make everyone mad at me?"

Catherine suddenly found her paperwork very interesting, and she bent back over it with renewed vigor. "No, nothing I can think of."

"But everyone seemed normal the morning after working the explosion. Nick and Greg both looked like they were coming up with a years worth of material on the spot after I made that slip." She sighed and rested her head on her hand. "They're all on edge, like something happened."

"Nothing I can think of," Catherine repeated, scribbling a note on a report.

Sara's head shot up. "Catherine. What happened?"

"I don't…"

"Something happened and you know." Sara reached out and slid the folder away from blonde woman. "You are never this interested in paperwork. Tell me."

"I, umm…" Catherine gave a huge, heartfelt sigh. "I really don't want to be in the middle of this. Can't you just ask one of them?" She saw, however, from Sara's stubborn expression that she wasn't getting out of this one. "Warrick… may have said something to Greg and Nick. For them to leave you alone."

"He did, huh?"

"To be fair, it had been a pretty lousy night for you and they were already starting to rib Warrick pretty hard. He just wanted them to ease up on you."

"And nobody thought to tell Warrick I can fight my own battles?" Her tone was lethal, as were her narrowed eyes, but a second later, she let out a huge breath and relaxed into her seat. "At least the mystery is solved. I thought I had been propelled into an alternative universe or something. Thanks." She shook her head. "I'll talk to them. All of them," she said ominously as she left the room.

Leaning against the doorframe of the room, she watched Nick work on putting the glass back together for a few minutes before she spoke. "So I hear I'm plutonium." When he glanced up at her, puzzled, she continued, "As in, hands off?"

His grin answered the one spreading across her face, and he laughed. "So who told on Rick?"

"Not important. I'll talk to him, ok?"

She turned to head out, but swung back to face him when he called. "Sar? You know, next time, you should get him a nice white horse instead of a kitten. It'll help when he decides to play the white knight."

Sara found Greg next, who refused to look at her when she came into the room. "I don't have your results yet. I told you I'd page you."

"I'm not here for the results. I'm here to talk."

"Talk?" Greg's head bobbed up from the microscope and he scanned the halls of the lab nervously. "About what?"

"I heard. About Warrick's little smackdown." Stepping behind the counter, Sara laid her hand on Greg's arm. "Look, I appreciate him trying to look out for me, and I appreciate you backing off a little bit, but what I really need is for people to treat me like normal. This walking around me on eggshells is just a reminder."

He gave her a measured look that showed just how much he had matured over the last few years working there, and then his goofy smile returned. "So it's open season on you?"

"Um, I wouldn't go that far."

"Yeah, cuz you still got all those mad boxing skilz."

When Sara finally caught up with Warrick in the locker room, she paused for a moment after she had slipped through the door to admire the muscles in his shoulders as he pulled on a fresh blue button down. "My white knight, preparing for another battle? Going to tell Hodges to be nice to me?"

He hung his head, a guilty smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, "Who ratted me out?" Sara stepped up, resting her hand on his back to take the sting from her barbed comments, and her prepared speech flew out of her mind as she felt the heat radiating from his body. Surprised by her reaction to such a simple gesture, she had to restrain herself from running her hand up to his shoulders, and she jerked her hand back suddenly, as if burned.

"Like I'm not going to notice Greg and Nick not busting me for that chocolate syrup comment. Picture that," she said in perfect imitation of Warrick's delivery of the phrase before her tone turned serious. "Warrick, I appreciate everything, you're doing for me, I really do, but maybe me staying with you is a bad idea." She sank onto the bench, her shoulders sagging. "I don't want you to feel like you have to take care of me."

"Why? Because you don't want to be taken care of?"

"I, I'm not used to it." She slid around so he couldn't see her face, staring down the empty row of lockers. "I shouldn't get used to it." When his hand came to rest on her shoulder and his thumb began a soothing massage of the tension in her shoulders, she let her eyes close briefly and she felt the stress drain out of her.

"Well, get used to it."

**xxx**

They settled into a routine of a sort: Sara would run or go to the gym as soon as she got off work, the physical exhaustion slowly working the tightness out of her muscles, and when she got home and headed for her own shower, Warrick stretched his repertoire of vegetarian dishes. A few times Sara had caught him playing the piano that took up much of the living room, but he always stopped as soon as she came in the door so she only got to hear a few notes. Then, since she slept less than Warrick, he awoke to breakfast most afternoons, the smell of cinnamon rolls a much more pleasant way to wake than his alarm. Sara's attempts to find the perfect house seemed to be an exercise in futility, as most of the houses on the market were new, cheap beige boxes, and the older, smaller homes in neighborhoods like Warrick's were either in disrepair or horribly overprices. Sara wouldn't admit, even to herself, that there may have been other reasons for her pickiness besides wanting the perfect house with hardwood floors and a large master bedroom.

Throwing down yet another realtor's brochure in disgust, Sara collapsed back against the cushions of the couch. "I told this guy that I didn't want any new constructions and he sends me material on a gated community. A gated community! Do you think he heard a word I said?" she grouched while stretching her arms out, inadvertently hiking up her t-shirt.

Warrick looked at her over the top of the Sports section. "Maybe he's trying to suggest you need to be caged. Her cocked eyebrow told him exactly what she thought of his sense of humor.

"Maybe I should just give up and get an apartment," she sighed.

"Why? You have a place to stay here."

"Yeah, but…"

"But nothing. I like having you here. If it makes you feel any better, you can pay a little for rent," he suggested, since she had been making comments about money and freeloading lately. When she brightened up, he gave her a warning look. "I said a little."

"Thanks. It is nice not to have to try to restock an entire apartment of furniture and stuff right now. This feels homey."

Warrick noticed how stiff she looked sitting on the couch, and shook his head. "Every morning you run and don't go the gym, you are so fidgety and tense. Why is that?"

"I store tension in my shoulders, and a heavy bag workout is the best way for me to work it out. So on days when I don't get an upper-body workout in, then…"

Warrick cracked his knuckles and grinned at her. "I know just the thing." When she looked at him questioningly, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up and out into the garage. He had Sara help him move some boxes, finally exposing a heavy bag hanging from the beams. When he pulled out his own gloves and wraps, Sara wiggled her eyebrows before disappearing to find her gym bag.


	8. The Bathroom

The Bathroom 

AN: Hey, sorry about the long time between updates on this. Real life and real writing on the diss got in the way of working on fun writing. And I've been working on breaking into another fandom, so I've been a bit busy.

**xxx**

Struggling to wake, Warrick tried to place what felt wrong about the house. _Quiet, it's too quiet, _he thought, shaking off the rest of the cobwebs, _and I don't smell breakfast_. Sara was usually up before him, cooking, banging pots, singing along, off-key, to some top 40 pop on the radio, or so she had been every afternoon for the last three weeks. Except for this morning. He swung his legs off the bed and pulled on a pair of worn sweat-pants, uneasy with what the silence portended. The bed in Sara's room looked like she had fought a hard-won battle with the covers and lost, retreating from the playing field in disgust, so Warrick assumed she had been in the house at some point. He continued down the hallway when a tiny murmur of sound tickled his ear and Warrick followed it until he came to closed bathroom door, knocking softly with one knuckle and calling, "Sara?"

When he got no response, he tried the doorknob. He had expected it to be locked, but instead it turned easily in his hand. Coltrane meowed a greeting as he pushed in the door, but Sara, curled into a ball against the bathtub, gave no sign that she heard him. Her hair and bedclothes were disheveled from sleep, or some attempts at sleep, and she clutched the kitten her hands, stroking the fur in a disjointed yet oddly rhythmic gesture as she stared intensely at a scene a million miles away from the bathroom cupboard in front of her.

Warrick crouched down beside her slight frame to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hey, Sara," he breathed just above a whisper, "You ok?"

Her voice was surprisingly strong considering the pained expression on her face, the broken look in her eyes. "Couldn't sleep," she replied, not looking at him.

He kept his voice gentle, a little unnerved by her demeanor. "Why not?" She didn't answer, just shrugged her shoulder under his hand, dropping her eyes to the kitten now rolling around on her knees as she stroked his belly. When she finally did speak again, even her voice sounded fatigued and tired, as weighted down as the expression on her face. "I should start breakfast."

Warrick expected her to elbow him when, instead of answering her, he pulled her into a tight hug, one arm wrapping around her slender waist and the other pulling her head to his chest. The anticipated physical violence didn't ensue; instead, Sara's body stayed tense against his for long moments, before she collapsed against him and he felt the warm wetness of her tears. Letting her cry herself out took longer than he expected; she had always had a moment, but a moment only, of weakness before she pulled herself together, but today appeared to be the exception to the rule. Warrick wasn't complaining as he held her tight, relishing the opportunity to hold the co-worker he was becoming perilously close to thinking as more than a friend.

He held her long after her sobs stopped, inhaling the sweet honeydew scent of her shampoo and cradling her body to his. When Sara slid a tentative arm around him and held him there, pulling him closer even, he smiled against her hair and pressed a soft kiss there. Then, finally, she began to speak. "I should have… helped, I should have gotten him out of there. He's dead and it's my fault."

Warrick hadn't been working the case with Sara, but he had heard about it. A young boy, left with his parents after their older son was killed in their home, had later turned up dead. Sara had suspected the parents the whole time, but nobody working the case had listened to her until it was too late. "Sara, you did everything you could," Warrick soothed, trying to reassure her, knowing it was in vain. Some cases stayed with you, he knew, regardless of the fact that you couldn't win them all, regardless of how rationally you looked at them. He knew how these cases ran through your head over and over again as you tried to figure out what you should have done to create a better outcome. He knew this would be one of those cases for Sara.

"I knew he was being abused, I knew it. I should have fought harder or called the abuse hotline or…" Or anything except what she did do, which was to let Grissom convince her she was being too emotional and to back off the abuse theory. Warrick had heard that he had even threatened to remove her from the case, and she had backed off, pursued other leads, until they were presented with glaring evidence, in the body of a little boy, that she had been right all along. Warrick had heard she hadn't talked to anyone for the rest of the shift, silently cataloguing evidence and filling out paperwork until she bolted from the lab with the first rays of daylight streaking the sky.

"Sara, honey, there's nothing you could have done." He didn't even notice that endearment had slipped out or how easily it had rolled off his tongue. "The police, the social workers, even Grissom, everyone was fooled by the façade. Everyone but you, and you were overruled and outgunned."

"I never wanted to be right, but I just knew." There was such bitterness in her voice that it gave Warrick pause, and, he glanced down at the top of her head curiously, hoping to catch sight of her eyes. "How did you know?" he asked quietly, carefully, hearing something underneath her words that made him cautious.

"I just knew," she repeated, like it was a mantra going on in her head. "You know, we're always going into people's houses and there are always those happy family pictures plastered everywhere, like they are there to cover all the cracks in the façade that you just _know_ are there. The more pictures on the wall, the more twisted the family is. It's like an inverse proportion between outward displays of happiness and the rot beneath." She sighed then, and stopped talking, leaving Warrick to puzzle at her words.

Finally, she shifted her weight off of Warrick and unceremoniously dumped Coltrane, who had fallen asleep in her lap, to the floor. As she straightened to standing, Warrick saw her face slowly close off, all traced of vulnerability slowly erased from his sight. "I'm going to take a shower and then get started on breakfast, ok?" Sara said as she stretched the kinks out of her back and legs, studiously avoiding his gaze. He nodded, picking up Coltrane and rubbing him under the chin as he made his way out of the door.

**xxx**

"Sara, I was updating my files and I need your new address and phone number. I noticed you still have Warrick's address listed." Grissom's voice penetrated her sleep-deprived brain slowly. Since she had stopped racking up insane amounts of overtime, she found that the occasional double or, in this case, triple, tended to exhaust her, so she didn't react quickly to Grissom, leaving the door open for Nick to interject as well. "Hell yeah, Sara, we need to have a house-warming party soon and check out your new place," he said, to a chorus of agreement from Catherine and Greg. _Warrick picked a good night to be off_, Sara thought, as she glanced around the table at her co-workers expectant expressions.

"Um, well," Sara began, feeling very much on the spot, especially when she spied Grissom's pen poised above the sheet of paper, waiting to transcribe her new address. "There is no new address."

Nick was the first to get a word out. "What?"

"I'm still at Warrick's." Grissom's eyes narrowed at that, and he opened his mouth to speak but no words came, while Catherine's eyes got bright with speculation. "I'm looking for a house, not an apartment, and the real estate market is pretty tight right now for anything except new constructions," she explained, hoping that would pacify everyone's curiosity. "So Warrick and I are housemates right now and for the foreseeable future."

Before anyone could ask any more questions, Grissom said, "Ok, then, Catherine and Sara, DB at the Tangiers and Nick, jewel theft at the Monaco." He passed out the slips quickly, and amid the shuffle of chairs being pushed back, said, "Sara, could I see you in my office for a moment?" Surprised, Sara mumbled "I'll meet you at the truck," to Catherine before hurrying to catch up with her supervisor, whose odd gait seemed faster than usual. She caught him just outside the door, and he ushered her into the dimly lit office ahead of him, closing the door behind them.

He settled into his chair while Sara, who felt that she might need a strategic advantage, stayed standing just inside the doorway. She wasn't disappointed when Grissom spoke. "Are you and Warrick dating?"

"What? Are you kidding me? You… unh, I, I can't believe you just asked me that!" Outrage couldn't even begin to describe her reaction, and she was worried that her inability to articulate a coherent sentence wouldn't do her anger justice. And it didn't, if Grissom's placid expression was any indication.

"It's a simple question, Sara. Are you and Warrick dating?"

"Why are you asking me this?" Sara hoped the warning note in her voice would tell him to back off the topic, but he remained, as always, completely clueless.

"As your supervisor, I should know if two of my subordinates are dating. It could impact the lab and cause problems with Ecklie."

"So you are asking this in a professional capacity?" Sara asked, her voice deadly calm.

"Yes, of course," Grissom replied, as if the thought that he might be interested for an entirely different reason had never occurred to him.

"Then the answer is, none of your business." Grissom's mouth dropped open, but he didn't get a chance to speak. "There is no fraternization policy at the lab, so you have no right to ask me about my personal life in a professional capacity," she stated simply.

"You checked on a fraternization policy?" Finally, Grissom reacted with an edge of contempt in his voice, as if he had just gotten the answer to his question.

"Yes." Pause. "Right before I asked _you_ out." She let the silence stretch as realization slowly dawned on him, his dumbfounded expression almost enough to give her satisfaction for all the times he had left her stunned. "Anything else, Grissom?" When he didn't answer, she turned to leave. He stopped her just as she was about to pull the door open.

"And if I was asking in a personal capacity?" This time, there was no mistaking the tone in his voice: hopefully and expectant, like she was going to fall back into the same holding pattern she had been in for the last four, almost five, years, just because he was showing the slightest bit of interest.

Her hand tightened on the doorknob almost painfully, and she sighed, looking down briefly before straightening. "Then the answer is the same: none of your business." And then she was gone.

Catherine let her mutter under her breath for a few minutes as they drove to the crime scene before asking, "So what did our fearless leader do this time?"

Sara shook her head, the short, angry motions slowly working off the outrage. "He asked… " She exhaled forcibly, feeling some of the anger leave her body, "he asked if Warrick and I are dating."

"Are you?" Catherine asked, curiously.

"No. We're friend and housemates, like I said. He's just, helping, you know? This whole thing, I just, I'm not up to facing the task of restocking an apartment. Rick understands that and he's giving me the breathing room to find a, a home. I need that and the perfect place is not going to materialize overnight in this housing market."

"So if you aren't dating Warrick, what's the problem with Gil asking you about it?"

Sara sighed, releasing some of the pent-up frustration in her shoulders as she exhaled. "Because he has no right to ask that question. He tried to pretend he was asking 'for the good of the lab,' but you know and I know that's bullshit. He was asking because he was jealous… like I'm going to play another round of pull-me-close and push-me-away with him."

"So what did you tell him?"

"That it was none of his business."

Catherine chuckled as she imagined the look on Grissom's face. "Good girl," she said approvingly.

Later that evening, she was much less approving as she stormed into Grissom's office, closing the door behind her as she let an ominous silence build in the tiny, cluttered office. "Can I help you, Catherine?" Grissom asked.

"Me, no," she shook her head. "I just thought I'd take one last look at the office before I can redecorate it." Grissom fixed her with his patented glance over the top of his glasses, raising an eyebrow to tell her to continue. "Gil, what were you thinking? Are you trying to get served with a sexual harassment lawsuit?"

"I have to protect the integrity of this lab, Catherine," he said sternly, trying to end the conversation quickly.

"Did you even think to check if the integrity of the lab would be in question if Warrick and Sara are dating?" She didn't wait for him to answer, "No, of course you didn't. Because you know and I know that the integrity of the lab was never the point. And worse, Sara knows that too."

When he opened his mouth in protest, Catherine shook her head in disbelief. "Nobody here is stupid, Gil. Or blind. We watched the two of you dance around each other for years. There was even a betting pool on how and when you would get together. I won, if case you are wondering." His eyes widened in shock, but Catherine didn't notice, just kept talking, "because I knew you would never risk your comfortable existence for a chance at actual happiness." Catherine gazed at her oldest friend with sadness in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to be right. But you have to let go now, Gil. I don't know when, I don't know how, but Sara's over it, and the jealous act will only get you in trouble."

Grissom nodded wordlessly and he picked up his paperwork again before asking, "Are they dating?"

Catherine stifled another outburst at how clueless he was, keeping her back to him as she rolled her eyes. "I don't know," she answered before making her escape.

The next night, Warrick endured the ribbing from Nick and Greg about being roommates with Sara, or as Greg liked to characterize it, keeping Sara all to himself, taking it in stride after Sara's phone call alerted him that their living arrangement was the hot topic of conversation in the lab. Hodges, however, was insufferable, wearing a knowing smirk every time Warrick stepped into his lab, and Warrick was grateful that Sara had the night off, hoping that the talk would die down before she came back to work.

Near the end of shift, Grissom called Warrick into his office. Ten minutes later, Catherine found him in the locker room, his green eyes blazing, one of the lockers nearby sporting a fresh dent. They really should pad these things, she thought, as she asked Warrick what happened, afraid that she already knew.

"He asked me if Sara and I are dating. Can you believe that?"

Catherine resisted the urge to go strangle their supervisor herself as she watched Warrick pace. "So what did you tell him?"

"I told him it was none of his damn business, that's what I told him!"

"Really? That's exactly what Sara told him."

"He what!" Warrick thundered before getting better control of his emotions, "He asked Sara too?" Warrick questioned, an incredulous note to his voice.

"Yeah. Sara didn't tell you?"

He sank down onto the bench, frowning in obvious consternation. "No. But that might explain why she seemed upset yesterday and took an hour-long run this morning. Damn that guy. Why can't he just let it go? Sara's finally dragging herself out of the funk from the apartment explosion and he has to go and do this?"

Catherine sat down beside him, watching his facial expressions carefully. "Do you think Sara's still interested in him?"

"No!" He rolled his eyes at the thought of Sara chasing their oblivious boss any longer. "No, but she's probably worried that his jealousy will make her workplace a living hell, like when she was dating that asshole Hank." Warrick's jaw tightened in resolution as he glanced at Catherine. "I swear, if he tries anything…" He left the threat open, but Catherine could tell it wasn't an empty threat from the look in his eyes. As he slammed his locker shut and muttered a quick "Bye," Catherine allowed herself a small smile as she watched Sara's protector leave the locker room.


End file.
